


a.u. | alternate universe |

by seventeenhyungs



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Seventeen - Freeform, coupjeong, jeongcheol - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventeenhyungs/pseuds/seventeenhyungs
Summary: Jeonghan dreams of what ifs





	

**Author's Note:**

> title: a.u. | alternate universe |  
> pairing: seungcheol / jeonghan  
> words: 1525
> 
> synopsis: jeonghan dreams of what ifs  
> written to the legato in jonghyun’s suit up and the longing behind dean’s d (half moon)

Jeonghan wakes to the feeling of a cotton t-shirt and warm sheets blanketing his form, one after the other. Eyes still shut, he breathes in, taking in the faint smell of linen and the musky cologne he knew like the back of his hand. 

 

It’s early. Too early.

 

Not without a little struggle, his eyes flutter open, slow like the clock he hears ticking a safe distance away, and is greeted by darkness cast by heavy drapes. He registers his surroundings when his brain’s gears shift into a morning-paced action, and blinking away the sleep in his eyes, he recognizes the gentle sunlight peeking through the curtains, kissing the surface of the bed and picking up the outlines of the face of the boy behind him.

 

It’s another morning of waking up to Seungcheol in the comfort of the boy’s sheets. 

 

Slow and careful, Jeonghan rests his head back against his pillow and revels in the sight before him. His eyes linger over Seungcheol’s face, the boy’s soft parted lips a contradiction against the furrow in his brows. Wordlessly, Jeonghan watches him—how his shirt dips to reveal his collarbones and the stretch between his eyebrows crinkles further as he wills away consciousness. How he—eyes shut tight and sleep still looming—reaches out to search for Jeonghan’s touch on instict. How when a strip of light from the sunrise behind the curtains streaks his face and turns his skin golden, his lips let slip a weary mumble.

 

Jeonghan stills when a familiar warmth finds the curve of his side, a hand sloppily resting on the dip of his waist. Seungcheol wakes slowly, kink in the middle of his forehead unfurling at the sight of Jeonghan and his flimsy shirt tucked under the thickness of his duvet. 

 

“You were doing it again,” the younger of the pair quips groggily, and Seungcheol doesn’t need to ask to know what Jeonghan is talking about. Furrowing his brows in his sleep had always been a habit he couldn’t shake—not even on quiet mornings like these, when they had his too-spacious apartment to themselves. “Is it that much trouble being next to me?”

 

“We both know you’re a handful.”

 

The gaze Jeonghan spares Seungcheol is all snark, but his lips curl into a smile and he winds into the boy’s hold. “Morning,” he hums softly, like only Seungcheol was meant to hear him. The older rasps the greeting back, like no one deserved to hear the rawness laced into his voice but the boy beside him. 

 

Slipping back into silence, the younger observes Seungcheol, gaze a searchlight on an absent scour. Jeonghan’s eyes skim over the thin lines buried into the surface of skin and the dark circles pooling below his eyes, and is reminded—strangely enough—of the dull pain that has resided so constantly in his muscles, of how he doesn’t remember how moving without a blunt ache in his arms or legs feels anymore. 

 

The thought brings memories of the previous night, of the dream he had welcomed in the repose of his sleep, flooding. 

 

“What are you thinking about?” Seungcheol’s hand finds Jeonghan’s own. Their palms kiss and their fingers slot together perfectly,like they were made to lock, never meant to pull away from the other’s grasp. Jeonghan’s eyes watch their hands, how they link softly and how Seungcheol’s thumb grazes lazy circles over his own. 

  
“I had a dream last night.”

 

“Mm. What about?” Jeonghan breathes in, deep and controlled, at the question. 

 

“What if we were different people?” he asks then pauses, as if testing the waters. A moment of silence befalls them and he continues, voice hushed out of habit. “Still us, but without fame or our fans or breaking our backs practicing every day.” Another pause. “Or without having to drive around a few extra blocks to make sure they don’t find us here.”

 

Seungcheol’s thumb stills, and Jeonghan knows he’s got as much attention as the older boy could give him at this time of morning. “Without having to hide?” Seungcheol breaks the quiet. His tone turns surprisingly tender, and Jeonghan feels compelled to meet his gaze. Their digits unclasp, movement slow like the rise and fall of Jeonghan’s chest when he feels the other’s hand rest against his cheek, fingertips threading through the dark tresses that frame his face. “I’ve thought about it.”

 

“Me, too,” Jeonghan mumbles. Silence takes over once again and the younger shuts his eyes to the feeling of Seungcheol’s warmth. He feels the sunlight that projects on the sheets shift, the subtlest heat seeping through the duvet right where their legs entwine, and he doesn’t need to draw the curtains to know the sun is making its slow ascent to its seat in the sky. He thinks about him, thinks about Seungcheol, about the dream he’d had last night and the ones he’d always had for the both of them. And then, to the sight of the boy across him and the sound of his breathing, he lets his imagination take him away.

 

“You’d be teaching sports at a local kids’ school, like you always wanted, and I’d be studying in the city in my last year of university taking up-”

 

Seungcheol interjects, “Psychology, like you always wanted.” When Jeonghan looks ahead, he finds the older’s eyes locked on his and mumbles his affirmations breathlessly because the softness in Seungcheol’s gaze still catches him off-guard. He pieces himself back together under his the other’s watch, and goes on. “I’d be working part-time at the café across my university, and you walk in to catch a break after your day is over. Our eyes meet across the room and I think I catch you smiling but get too shy to take a second look. You come over to place your order, and when you ask me to give you whatever I make best, we click like we’ve known each other for years. We talk for hours, and by the time you start talking about the life you left in Daegu, I become positive I’d never met anyone like you.”

 

The older of the two wears a smile, one that speaks volumes about what he feels, and Jeonghan warms when he feels a gaze lower to his lips. “I’d already be falling for you,” Seungcheol says, and Jeonghan takes it as his cue to go on.

 

“You come by every day after my shift ends, and at night, before I close up shop, we sit by the counter and talk like we used to in the training room after the kids left and the cameras stopped rolling.” Jeonghan’s voice falters just a little as he loses himself in his thoughts, and Seungcheol wordlessly presses forward to rest his lips against the younger’s own. They pull apart moments later, Seungcheol barely inching away far enough to catch his breath before trailing lazy kisses down Jeonghan’s jaw.

 

“You insist on walking me home one night and when we stop by my door, we look at each other like we have a thousand questions hanging over us. You kiss me,” and Seungcheol does again, “and before we can even think about pulling away, I lead you inside because it feels right. Seungcheol tugs him closer by the waist, chests flush against each other. “Being with you, it feels right.” 

 

Jeonghan wraps his arms around the other’s shoulders, fingers of one hand winding into short black locks. He isn’t sure why–perhaps it’s the press of Seungcheol’s nose and mouth against his neck or the affection brimming behind his words—but he feels his eyes dampen when he continues.

 

“We take turns sleeping at each other’s places so we can start and end our days beside each other. And every morning, when it’s just us, we lay like this. Pressing close while the sun rises and pretending like it’s us against the world.” His fingers slide down from Seungcheol’s shoulders to cradle his cheeks, guiding the older boy’s face up to press their foreheads close. “And on one of those mornings, when the feeling becomes too heavy to stay unspoken, I lean in close and whisper that i’m in love.” He shuts his eyes, and with his tears welling and lips brushing against the other’s, he breathes, “Choi Seungcheol, I’m so, so in love.”

 

When Seungcheol kisses him, touch gentle but bruising, Jeonghan lets the teardrops brimming run wet trails along the hands that hold his face. And it makes sense, when their mouths are locked and hearts clenching, why an unshakeable weight pulls at his chest and tears line his eyes when he humors the thought of them living different lives. Because he knows—like his heart could defy all logic and reason—that no matter the time, place, or circumstance, it would always be him and Seungcheol, destined to dive head-first in love.

 

“I love you,” Seungcheol says like a secret to the younger’s lips. And when Jeonghan grasps at his shirt as he feels kisses pressed to his eyes, he remembers why mornings like these are worth losing sleep over.

**Author's Note:**

> tw: @yoon_jeongs  
> ficblog: seventeenhyungs @ tumblr


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